


The Light To My Darkness

by lovelypopcorn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelypopcorn/pseuds/lovelypopcorn
Summary: A family of three tragically becomes two, and in the midst of their domestic lives, Amelia and Brigette Wilde uncover a beautiful mystery.





	1. Quiet

Quiet. It's raining softly. From our building high above we see the town quiet down, the lights going out. It's so quiet and It's so comfortable, in the deep, thick darkness and the rain, the long awaited rain. It's freezing cold, but I remain on the windowsill. I feel so alive. Small steps echo through the hall, running towards my bedroom. Small, cold feet are being softly tucked into the covers next to me. We sit in silence, comfortable, beautiful silence, and the rain. 

And the rain turns into a storm, and before long, the little feet go back down the hallway, away from me. I've always been lonely, but not too long ago, I wasn't alone. He was good for me, as good as it gets. I’m not sure if I was good for him. But I don't think it matters now. Lightning springs through the deep blue skies, followed by a loud thunder. My heart is suddenly racing. I close the window and the curtain as I get up and head to the library. My footsteps make no sound as I wander down a candle lit hallway. I place my own candle inside the candle holder on the table in the library. In one swift motion I pick out a book with a purple cover. I've read it countless times, but have yet to discover any message that may be hidden in Its pages. The words on the first page must have been referring to something. But what could he have meant? These thoughts have ruled my mind for over a year now- since I've found the book. The book wasn't given a title, but I've always referred to it in the name of ,'make a wish’, the words beautifully illustrated on the first page. He wrote that entire book by hand, carefully crafting every single letter, as well as the cover, which remained unfinished. His touch was present in every single one of the pages. The book was long, and every word was clearly thought of and perfectly placed in order to co-exist harmoniously with the others, creating a beautifully threaded book. I miss him tonight, more than I usually do.  
Is it wise, keeping my mind on the deceased, when life goes on? Surely the answer is no. But I can't bring myself to stop.


	2. I thought I knew you

When I wake up, the sun gets in my eyes. I get up angrily to close the blinds, on this cold, windy day, and find a note. It’s from Amelia- written in neat, colorful lines, and bears a purple, heart-shaped stamp on its back. When I open it carefully, a rectangular piece of paper falls out. It’s covered in tape. Underneath the tape she wrote “1 ticket for an outside picnic”.

I walk down the hall, towards her room. She isn’t there, but the room is tidy, and on the table there is another note. “go outside”, clarifying the previous message. I smile slightly. I love her with all my heart. Then I quickly get dressed, and speed down towards our garden. It’s overwhelmingly cold, and I no longer feel my feet. Then I find her, in a white fur coat and a long dress underneath, humming slowly and watching the snow begin to fall. I don’t understand why she sits on the grass instead of the wooden bench, but I say nothing, and sit down beside her.

She closes her eyes and sings:

**“as the trees fall down to sleep,**

**and the hours get too** **deep,**

**you must know,**

**my child I’m right here for you**

**and the night will never scare,**

**because the demons aren’t there,**

**and as the fairies to the forest retreat,**

**you’ll be deep in the kingdom of your dreams.”**

I watch as she opens her eyes and looks at me. “I thought you’d be surprised that I remembered it. “, she says, quietly.

“I am,” I say. “But I know you and your incredible memory, so it just makes me miss simpler times. It really makes me miss singing” Now she looks at me, and I can see her eyes widening ever so slightly when she realizes.

”You just don’t feel the need to say it.” I nod.

“because you know me. And you know how much I care about you”.

she puts her hand in mine, and helps me up. We walk to the gazebo, which is covered in blooming flowers. Inside it, on the table, are eggs, toast, and hot chocolate, as well as water and tea. I also spot a bag of marshmallows. Amelia smiles, and shows me to the table. She sits at the head of the table and I sit on the right, per usual. She pours steaming water in my tea cup.

“thank you,” I say quietly, smiling. She smiles back, pouring hot chocolate into her own cup and quickly sips and yelps, her tongue sticking out.

“why did I think that was a good idea?”, she asks, once her mouth has cooled down enough for her to speak, and I pour tea in a new cup and hand it to her.

“It’s so cold out here that I almost did the exact same thing, just to warm myself”, I say, snickering.

“It’s not funny. It burns,” she murmurs angrily, but she’s also laughing slightly. She picks up her tea cup, and I look at her warningly. “I know, don’t worry,” she says, blowing on the hot substance to cool it down, before taking small, careful sips. Somehow, she suddenly seems less tense- I just hadn't noticed that she was tense before, so this surprises me. She is avoiding my glance, disappearing behind her tea cup. But I know her. And I see her breathing, as if struggling not to cry. Slowly, I get up towards her, and my heart is aching. Her gaze is fixed on the trees and the frozen swamp. She keeps an emotionless expression, until I start singing quietly:

**“as the trees fall down to sleep,**

**and the hours get too deep,**

**you must know, my child**

**I’m right here for you**

**whatever it is, wherever you go-**

**I’ll love you through the sad and old**

**or the new and called,**

**I’ll be here, to welcome you home.**

**”** “no matter how bad you think it may be- I know you. And, whatever it is- tell me.”, I say, choking back tears. She nods, tears streaming uncontrollably out of her eyes, freezing as they reach the ground.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. "I don’t- I never have- felt anything, towards anyone-”, she is trying very hard not to cry, and is gasping for air. “Nothing like what you and dad had- ever- and I just-thought- how disappointing to you this must be- If I don’t find someone- if I never have kids-”, she is openly sobbing now, and I hold her hand. Then I say, quite sternly:

“I don’t care about my non-existent grandchildren. I care about you! What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t put your happiness as a priority in my life? We could live here until we die, just the two of us, if we wanted!”, I say, and my stern voice breaks into a teary half-smile. “and you- you aren’t broken. You are just you. And as we’ve already established- I love you, Milly.” she opens her arms, waddling towards me.

“love you too, mum,” she mumbles, enveloped in my hug, in the cold. we take everything back inside in a few trips to the kitchen, and I put on “midnight kingdom”. We watch it together, eating cheese and ham sandwiches. I felt so close to her that day.

At night, when the snow comes, I go back to the library. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, yet I keep coming here, in search for answers and peace for my restless mind. And so, I go in the dark, to hide me away, and comfort me in my pain. I’ve always felt that pain, the calling for something greater I should have achieved. He had it, too. But to him it was a blessing, rather than a burden. He was truly good. The embodiment of good. Of the need to bring justice to the world- which confused me, then, as he lived comfortably all his life- the justice he brought didn't benefit him at all. But in his passing, when I found his book- left nameless and unpublished, hidden away at the library, the library which he had dedicated years to assembling, traveling the world for books of all kinds, I finally realized that bringing joy to other’s lives was what made him glad to be alive. I was surprised to find his book, because I was the writer and artist of the two of us, and have published many of my works, which have reached people all around the world. But I never strived to make a change- I just did it because it brought me satisfaction and because I thought I was good at it. And people clearly felt the same way, as I became widely known. I wrote under the pen name ‘black swan’, so that no one could know my true identity. I suppose I felt extremely vulnerable, as writers tend to feel. I didn't write because I wanted to spread any kind of message- it was just to share my selfish feelings with other selfish people, who were willing to spend their money on my words. But things are different now. becoming a mother, in all honesty, wasn’t something I ever planned on. But he changed that.

The way Amelia feels- is foreign to me. I've always felt romantic attraction , my entire life. I've always wanted a relationship. I just felt so far from being capable of caring for another human being before I met him.

I love Amelia with all my heart. The thought of her not knowing this, or expecting me to not accept her as she is frightens me.

I decide to go to the study, which was his as much as it was mine. I don't mind sitting on his side at all, but I still prefer my half of the room. My table is wooden, pushed against a wall decorated with a red and gold pattern, and a black notebook is laying on it. Next to the book, there is a stack of papers, and a trash can filled to the brim with anything but paper- all sorts of wrappings and old pens and broken glass. I am so messy that I learned how to appear organized to the outside. But, when there's no one there to judge you, you are actually only running away from yourself. It's quite sad, but It's perfect poem material, so I sit down and I write. The words just come to me, in a big flood of emotion. They always do. It makes me feel like I'm fooling people into thinking that I am actually a good writer, when in reality, I put no amount of effort into it. But it benefits me, and it benefits others. So why do I still feel that guilt, after all these years?

Amelia comes quietly into the room, peeking behind my shoulder. It's quiet, and she's hugging my hand. I hand the finished story to her and she reads it, slowly. When she finishes, her eyes are glistening. Then she says quietly, moving away from my chair to lean against the wall: "The way you convey emotion… is beautiful. I felt it. I felt it all." I give a small nod, and the calm feeling in the air of the room this evening, with the window opened just a crack, spreads inside me. My eyes feel like they have become pools of golden liquid, in the last shred of sunset light. I can feel Amelia's energy beaming through the room. In that moment, we are one. And everything has suddenly become so light and beautiful.

**‘I was ok, or so I thought- but when she called my name I ran, and yelled “I’m never coming back!”. with a suitcase full of lies and the pain I felt, reflected in my eyes, I boarded up the plane going to New York. I tried to get some rest, and fell into uneasy sleep. In my dream she sat beside me, and we looked at each other quietly, when suddenly, she fell, and I remembered- she was gone. I was back in that same moment, and I could see her inching closer, teary eyed, offering to take away the pain. reality and memories and dreams all mix together to create what happens next. The suitcase bursts open, and all my lies, of all shapes and sizes, are flying all around the porch, disappearing in the sky, floating through the clouds. She holds my hand, but I can tell nothing between us is the same as I remember. I catch a glimpse of dark despair passing by and ,painfully, declare:” I don’t know you anymore.” And then she smiles, and says: " But I know you. I know you tend to bottle up the shame. I know you, and your pain- the mess you hid from me, even after I was dead.”, I stare at her, my heartbeat so loud I know she can hear it. “ Let me ask you this:”, she says, smiling maniacally ,” is it really just a harmless lie? Or did you become so full of lies, it really is the truth? And now that I’m not there anymore, who are you running from?”, I stay silent for a moment, but then shake my head slowly. “I did all of that, and more. I can’t deny that. But you don’t get to pretend that your manipulations weren’t a part of the reason I lied. Besides, you’re the ghost unable to move on. So here is a question for you:” why can’t you rest in peace, and instead feel the need to haunt me, even in your death?” I woke up then, shaking, on a plane to New York. And in my head I kept repeating- “I’m never, ever, coming back”.**

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress, but I wanted to put it out there and hopefully get some feedback.  
> Thank you for reading <3


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